


The Serene Lotus sprouts from Muddy Waters

by Tawnia



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Real Events, Original Character(s), Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 05:51:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16989240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tawnia/pseuds/Tawnia
Summary: This is a story of a love that endured their flaws, and a love that might yet be the best they ever had.





	The Serene Lotus sprouts from Muddy Waters

**Author's Note:**

> This is a two-part short story inspired by real life events.  
> I was slightly emotional, maybe just a touch bitter and angry, when I wrote this. But still, it is writing I bear into fruition after many, many years of not putting my dreams down onto paper. While I certainly do not think my writing skills are any good now, this was something I put my heart into. So I will put it here for the world to see.

 

**1\. Not now**

 

She rarely lets him get closer.

It is at the wake of dawn that he draws in a deeper breath, slowly rousing from a night of fitful sleep. She is the first thought that eases into his mind, and of the many to come. His eyes open. He turns his face to the side.

Empty.

He brushes his fingers over the crinkled sheets and then the blankets bunched up against him. They feel cool to the touch. He sighs, deeply, and musters the mental strength to sit up, swing his legs over the edge of the bed and stand.

He finds her in the kitchen. He is silent as he leans against the door frame, crosses his arms, to stare.

She sits with an elbow on the dining table, chin balanced sideways upon a palm. Her body is twisted slightly, gazing out to the garden, through the windowed doors with misty glass and the occasional rivulets of condensation down the lower parts of the panels.

The mornings are coldly beautiful, but still a mere echo of the woman before him. Her gaze is upon the leaves and grass outside stirring in a calm, morning breeze. As does he, but on a different entity. He is entranced, his heart rages with desolation and desire beneath his quiet demeanor. He wants her.

But she rarely lets him get closer.

So he simply looks, and looks some more. He cannot turn away. Even when she lets out a soft sigh and finally moves from position, he is rooted in place.

He watches her with the intensity of a wolf hunched down, stalking prey…

Her lips curve lightly, warily, greet him, “Morning.”

He watches her dark eyes on him, then off him.

He watches her turn away, gaze out the window once more, before rising and moving deeper into the darkened kitchen.

The sounds of porcelain clinking and water running is oddly soothing.

But it is to her voice his senses yearn for. She is a drug that sedates, yet shakes him to the core. It is to her; every inch of her skin, every gaze she deigns upon him, every bit of her soul that he is drawn to, like nothing before.

He is the ocean to her moon.

Her gravity pulls him in.

Irresistible.

She stiffens as his arms circle her waist.

There is a pause, and it felt like time has stopped.

Then she seems to want to pull back, but he is there, chest against her back, chin upon her shoulder.

 _Mine_.

Ever so gently, ever so slowly, he leans closer against her cheek.

Each second this close to her sinks him deeper and deeper into her allure.

He is enraptured; she is the wolf, he – her prey. He cannot move nor pull away.

“I love you…”

And he does not know at what point she no longer was there.

But her reply burns like icy fire in his heart.

**“…Not now.”**

 

* * *

 

 

**2. Lia**

“I just wish, he would – you know.”

He does not know. His mind is preoccupied, back to a gloomy kitchen where there was a beautiful light. A tranquil reverie… until the wretchedness of reality snuffed it out, tearing it right out from between his arms.

“Hey.”

Fingers snap right before his face, startling him slightly as he refocuses on the girl in front of him. He smiles tiredly and averts his gaze away from her hefty bosom.

“Sorry,” he says.

She frowns, crossing her arms in dissatisfaction. Uncrosses them again to brush hair from her face. Sighs at his lack of explanation and turns against the breeze. She shifts around a little. He knows she is contemplating her next reaction, searching for something to say. He waits patiently.

A few seconds tick by. He is staring across the street as vehicles begin slowing to a halt before their crossing. The roar of hurtling machines start to whittle down. A slow hum and rattle of idling engines fill the air. The lights turn green.

“Let’s go.” Without even turning, he catches her arm and pulls lightly as he steps forwards.

She huffs, but follows beside.

It is a few more minutes before they reach his door.

But nary a minute before she undresses and pulls him closer. She is raising her face to his, her eyes are brown and large. He can feel her soft, heavy breasts through his shirt. He lifts his hand to her hair and lets strands of hazelnut slip through his fingers. They could almost kiss.

“I want you.”

But he does not want her.

He wants gentle, dark eyes. Shades of black. A sweet voice.

But  **she**  does not want him.

When he finally finds his voice, it is low and rough. “I can’t do this…”

She steps back. His breath is stuck in his throat. There is hurt evident in her posture even as she turns away, as he looks away.

“It has always only been her.”

Between him and her, at that moment where he is reeling from the realization of what he has done, he is unsure about who said it out loud. But the absolute truth of those words ring in his ears.

“Yes…” He admits. “Always, only… her.”

There is brief window of nothing as they both stand there, looking; he away, she at him.

Finally she moves, bending to collect her clothes.

He feels some privacy is due and so he walks out of the bedroom, heads to the kitchen. He paces back and forth. His heart and mind are rioting within him. He stops to look up at the ceiling, hands balled into fists, brows slanted into a deep, tense frown. He feels lost.

The bedroom door slams.

“Lia, I truly am sorry,” he calls after her retreating back.

She is stalking her way to the front door, her body rigid and neck stiff. He can see her jaw is clenched. But he does not try to stop her departure.

Her hand is on the knob when she pauses. She turns, her brown eyes furious. Their eyes meet.

“You know what?” Her voice is shaky from emotion.

He does not know what to say.

“She deserves so much better.”

Her voice is molten lava.

Her words are hot coal.

They sink slowly and painfully into the broken, bleeding veins of his heart.

She yanks the door open, walks out. Smashes it close behind her.

And then he is alone.

He releases a faltering breath. His head is down now, with his palms flat on either side of the sink. He thinks he can still smell her. He thinks maybe her scent still lingers from their sweet, quiet moment together that morning. He closes his eyes, hates himself.


End file.
